War Wounds
by C.Watherston
Summary: There were events between the last chapter and the Epilougue. Relationships, healing, time passing on. R&R please; will hopefully feature all canon pairings.
1. Chapter 1

The scream cut through the air, cut him to the bone, froze his blood and stopped his heart. For a second, he stood still; caught between nightmare and reality, before he forced himself into a run. By the time Ron Weasley made it to the bottom of the stairs and into the Burrow's kitchen, there was already a commotion of worried red head's gathered around the sink.

He shoved through them and grabbed Hermione by the arms.

"'Mione!"

She stopped screaming his name and grabbed the front of his shirt, clutching him as the strength went from her legs. He braced the arm not holding her against the edge of the sink and held her. Over her shoulder he saw the peeling knife, laying where it had fallen smeared with tell-tale blood, and the blood spotted on the sink. He swore softly.

"Hermione?"

She gave a sob in reply. He pulled away a little and took the hand that she had cut so deeply. The blood welled along a dead straight laceration on the palm side of her thumb. She shook in his arms. He looked into her brown, brown eyes and read the terror behind this very un-Hermione outburst.

For a moment, an awful moment, she'd been back in a forest clearing with _his _blood on her hands, his _life _in her hands. Still shaking, she used her non-bleeding hand to push back the collar of his shirt and ran a finger over the scar his Splinching had left behind. He held her hand over the raised wound and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes at his touch.

"C'mon, 'Mione. I'm alright" he muttered, ears going a little red when he remembered his family was behind him. He was about to give them a glare over his shoulder out of instinct, when he realised they were alone. Alone, and without Fred, George wasn't about to take the mickey out of him.

His shoulders slumped and he pulled his wand out of his back pocket. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he gave the wand a silent flick and they watched as her wound closed over. Neither of them spoke as he pocketed his wand again.

The war had taught him a lot.

"Ron, I...it just..."

She swallowed hard and trailed off. He nodded slowly, understanding. Then he glanced at the knife still sitting on the bench and picked it up.

"Why were you doing it this way anyway?"

He had a sneaking suspicion, but he wasn't sure whether he should jump to conclusions or not. Whatever it was that they had, it was still new. He didn't want to mess it up by saying the wrong thing about such a raw issue.

Ron watched Hermione's eyes fill with pain as she stared at the knife in his hand.

"Mum and I...used to do it together, standing there...just talking...and Dad would come in and..." she stopped and clenched her teeth. Putting the knife down, Ron went to her and drew her against him. She'd had to tell him that she liked it when he did this, _needed it _even. So he was glad he was doing the right thing as she buried her face in his chest and drew strength from him.

"Thanks Ron" she said quietly after a moment.

"Yeah, you're right. You're okay, now, aren't you?"

She paused. Okay? Her parents didn't remember who she was. They were living in Australia and there was no way of reversing the Memory Charm. She'd gone as far as thinking about asking Harry to reopen Dumbledore's tomb to retrieve the Elder Wand, but it was a thought she'd never voice. Possibly because Harry would do it for her. Possibly because she felt deep down that Dumbledore's final resting place had been violated enough.

"Stupid question. Look, why don't ya go up and read with Ginny? She was trying to get me to help her with her History of Magic book. I mean, me? She's gone loony, I swear"

Hermione gave him a look and then forced a smile to make him feel better. Leaving him in the kitchen, she headed up the stairs, hoping nobody would comment on her breakdown.


	2. Chapter 2

"Harry James Potter, I swear if you-"

Ginny's voice dissolved into a high-pitched mating of squeal and scream as Harry swooped at her on his broomstick and slammed them side-by-side. Ginny pulled gracefully into a spinning dive, taking Harry with her as they fell through the air high above a green meadow near the Burrow. Mere feet above the ground, they separated in unison and split apart in a high speed dance, intricately choreographed to showcase the best of their abilities.

Laughing so hard she had to slow in midair to hold her sides, Ginny shook away her long red mane as it came flying from its braid. Her cheeks hurting from her glee in the brilliant autumn air, she looked around for her boyfriend. Not seeing him on her first circuit, she frowned and dropped lower to find him. Still, she couldn't see him in the air or on the ground. She rose again, almost to the hanging white cloud bank, until she found him.

Hovering, both hands clutching the wood of Ron's broom, his shoulders hunched and his back to her, he looked frozen in place. As she drew closer she saw his shoulder's were heaving as if under a huge strain.

"Harry?"

He turned to look over his shoulder. To her horror, his face was streaked with tears. He quickly looked away and awkwardly shoved his glasses to brush the moisture from his eyes. She floated next to him and chewed her lip, trying to think what to say.

"Sorry...I, didn't mean to..." he cleared his throat and swallowed.

"Let's go down" she suggested softly. He looked at her sharply, as though to protest, but then his shoulders hunched again, this time in defeat.

Everyone was suffering in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. For the first few months as the world struggled to return to normal, all eyes had been on the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, slayer of the Dark Lord. It was from this eighteen year old boy who had already been through enough, seen enough and lived enough to be much, much older, that the battered and broken wizarding world took their cue. So on the outside he was dating a girl he loved, completing a gap course to enter his Auror training and getting back to a life he had, for all intents and purposes, only put on hold for the war.

They didn't see the sleepless nights. They didn't see the flashbacks. They didn't see the lonely wandering of the house or the long hours spent forcing himself to study and forget.

They landed on the long green grass and shook the damp from their clothes. Up on a rise near the fence line grew an aging oak tree and beneath it, Harry and Ginny had spread a rug and a backpack with a thermos and sandwiches. They leaned their brooms against the scarred old trunk and sat down to watch the world.

"Neville had a flashback at school last week. Walking past the Potions lab, someone blew something up. Everyone ducked or pulled out their wands but Neville...he turned around and shot a curse into the classroom, then ducked and ran along the wall. I had to tackle him and hold him down till he...came back to himself, you know?"

He looked at her. Ginny watched him speak quietly with a concerned, intense look on her face.

"I know. He told me..."

"I was being attacked by Dementors...and Sirius was screaming" said Harry matter-of-factly. Ginny drew in a sharp breath and reached out to grab his hand. He used it to pull her close to him and burrow him face into the crook of her neck.

She giggled helplessly and cut herself.

"Sorry. Your nose is cold"

He looked at her with the crooked smile he reserved just for her and did it again. It started a no-holds-barred tickle war that raged until George Apparated in beside them and poked Harry pointedly with a broom.

"Oi, you two. Mum wants you back at the house for dinner. And watch your hands on my sister, Harry-" he winked- "I'd hate to have to make good the wand-shovel-big backyard threat"

With that he was gone. Harry shook his head.

"At least he didn't lose his sense of humour"

Ginny laughed, standing to put away the thermos.

"Harry, the day George looses that will be the day Ron decides he's madly in love with Rita Skeeter"

He had to laugh out loud at the hilarious picture that gave, and the accompanying one of Ron being chased by a flock of determined yellow canaries... 


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you going to marry me?"

She jerked and twisted her neck painfully to look up at him sharply. His ears were burning. He'd apparently been working himself up to that question for a while, but his stroking of random patterns on her ribs had never wavered, so she hadn't noticed.

"You don't think we're a little young?" she squeaked. He swallowed, and shrugged.

"Mum was same age as you are now when her and Dad got married"

She blinked rapidly and wriggled into a more comfortable position in the V of his long legs. She could feel his body tense around her now, and his emotions hummed in the air.

She bit her lip.

"You don't have to, just pretend I-don't worry about it, 'Mione" he muttered, stumbling over himself. She sighed and rolled over so she could look into his eyes, her hands folded primly on his chest and her chin resting on them.

"Don't do that. Look...I, I don't know...its different, for Muggles, I guess...you marry younger here...my parents didn't get married till they were in their late twenties"

Ron shrugged.

"I didn't say _now. _I just meant...later, ya know?"

Hermione's brow was furrowed. He raised a hand to smooth it gently with the knuckles of his hand. The gentleness of the gesture forced her to smile. She had to worry about his face catching on fire, his cheeks went so red when she caught his hand to kiss his fingertips.

They were quiet for a moment longer.

"Its just...you don't, sometimes feel...like..."

"Like its wrong when we're burying our mates?"

She was surprised by his clear and forthright explanation of the concept she was struggling with. he half-smiled at her surprise.

"Well I ain't a complete git, 'Mione. I...-" he stopped and took a deep breath- "I buried my brother yesterday...and Godric only knows how many more funerals I'm gunna go to in the next few months...but...bloody hell 'Mione, Fred would have started popping fireworks and dancing on tables and being a complete _git _when-if-_whatever_, he found out I finally dug up the balls to kiss you..."

She giggled.

"I happen to recall it being pretty mutual"

Ron chuckled, a grin breaking out across his face at the most sacred of his memories; kissing Hermione Granger to damn near senseless in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts was right up there with Draco Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.

"Yeah...yeah, it was..."

Now he was looking down into her eyes with a look of such utter intensity she couldn't breathe and had completely forgotten what they were talking about. He pulled her to him so he could kiss her lips and if she'd had any hope in remembering, they flew out the window with her caution.

Molly Weasley would usually have had something to say about the rather compromising position she stumbled upon her youngest son in that evening when she went to fetch the eggs from the henhouse. However, she drew to a dead stop.

Ron's shirt had been balled behind his head to make a pillow and his hand was pushed up the back of Hermione's blouse. She was curled up on his chest, fast asleep, and his arms were around her. They both looked...her heart stuttered. Ron was awake, looking out over her head to the meadow beyond, propped up against the side of the henhouse. He must have heard her try to retreat then, because he turned his head to the side. His eyes widened.

She turned and left.

There were some things, she knew, that mother's couldn't heal like grazed knees and broken toys. At some point, a mother must concede to the fact that her son needed another woman to fix the things she could not. Here, as the weeks began to turn into months following the death of Voldemort, Molly Weasley realised that her son needed another woman in his life.

She'd let go of one son this week. Letting go of two nearly broke her feeble old heart until Arthur pulled her into his arms.

"Let go, Molly" he whispered.

Somehow, she didn't think he was just referring to Ron and Fred.

So she did. She cried.


	4. Chapter 4

**_AN: I am unsure as to whether or not this particular piece should be placed here, or not. Therefore, feedback would be much appreciated. _**

**_Regards; CW_**

"_The same...won't be said for this one..." _

"_Like hell" _

It was funny, how some words, some moments, stuck so clearly in his mind, despite the years and the trials he'd faced since then. Those ten words from that time spent at Malfoy Manor were etched so clearly into his memory he couldn't forget them if he tried.

Ron's snarl as he threw himself to his feet, ready to fight and much, _much _more in the name of the girl laying on the cold marble floor was glued forever in Harry's memory. It was a guttural curse, words poured directly from the raging anger burning in the red-heads heart. It was everything; it was his love, his loyalty, his instinct, because everything was looking down the length of Bellatrix Black's wand. His love, his heart, his strength, his reason.

His Hermione.

That was the first time. There were three specific times, all in all, that those two words had plummeted from Ron's mouth.

The second time, it was a month after the last of the funerals. Two and half since the Battle of Hogwarts. They'd been staying at the Burrow, pushing plans together. Hermione and Harry were going back to school; McGonagall was offering a bridge course for those students who had missed their last year. Ron didn't know. He still struggled with the idea of going on, of moving forward.

With school starting in a few weeks, Hermione had dropped the bombshell as if it was utterly undebatable. Ginny seemed to sense it coming when she cleared her throat, because she ducked her head and found something very interesting in her lunchtime soup.

"I'm going to get my parents back from Australia"

This announcement didn't surprise anyone. They'd all known she'd been desperate for the chance for weeks. Frowning, Harry had recalled all he knew on Memory Charms; Lockhart being his prime experience with them. Yes, poor Professor Lockhart, sitting in St Mungo's as mad as a hatter.

Ron was leaning back in his chair, his arm slung on the back of Ginny's seat, across from Hermione. He looked completely relaxed, if a little drawn.

"Yeah, orright. When are we leavin'?" he drawled, taking a sip of orange juice.

Hermione looked at him and hesitated. At her silence, he looked up.

"Me. Not us" she corrected softly.

Ron choked on his juice, nearly overbalancing before slamming all four legs of the chair back to the ground. Ginny pounded him on the back for good measure, but Harry was sure he didn't notice. He was looking at Hermione in surprise.

"Like hell!" he exclaimed. The next few moments of his rant were lost on Harry; in his mind he was suddenly on his belly on a staircase as Bellatrix stalked towards Hermione, and Ron was up on his feet with those same words on his lips, and he was duelling Draco Malfoy and-

He was roused from his thoughts by a tug on his arm. He blinked, suddenly back in the present, and Ginny was standing beside him, tugging pointedly on his arm. Hermione and Ron were standing a few metres apart, shouting.

"You're not bloody going alone, 'Mione"

"You're not my keeper Ronald!"

"I never said it had to be me, but someone's gotta go with you! You can't do it alone!"

"Sod off, Ronald, I'm not a bloody child! I think I can handle it-"

"Course you can bloody handle it, you ignorant twat, doesn't mean you should!"

Hermione opened her mouth with a snarling response, when she quickly shut it again, rethinking his words. His strong, broad shoulders shook a little as he stood in front of her, eyes narrowed, two red spots high on his cheeks. His big hands were fists by his side as he glared at her.

"What do you mean?" she snapped, holding onto her anger in the face of her confusion. He swallowed.

"I mean that you don 't 'ave to. I know yer...ye, know. Thinkin' positive and all that, but thing is even you might not be able to reverse the charm. And if ya can't...-" he met her eyes and, touching her unlike anything she'd ever felt, his eyes echoed her pain, as if he was feeling her agony just because she was-

"I don't want you to go through that alone" he muttered finally, ears going red.

Her eyes filled with tears and she took a heavy breath before launching herself at him and throwing her arms around him, holding him as close as she physically could and burying her face in his sensible flannelette shirt.

"That is the _sweetest _thing _anyone _has ever said to me" she told him affectionately in a whisper. Suddenly, from the stairs behind them, George whistled.

"Got outta that by the skin of your bloody teeth, mate! Well done!" he laughed as he came down. He was trailed by a very embarrassed Harry and an annoyed Molly and Ginny. Molly smacked his arm.

"Oh, _you _George Weasley! Leave your brother alone!"

Hermione was giggling as George took off around the kitchen table to escape his mother's wrath, only to be met head-on by Ginny, who dealt him the same treatment. Ron was looking down at her, his hands on her waist, smiling at her small moment of happiness. She felt his gaze and looked up, a small smile still lighting her features.

"So when are we leavin'?" he asked seriously. He had a part-time job at the farm down the road, and if he was packing off to Australia, he should probably let-

_Slap! _

"Ass" she said coldly to him, spinning on her heel and stalking off.

Not for the first time in his career, Ron looked at her stiff, retreating back in utter consternation. Tiredly he slapped his forehead and dragged his hand down his face. Harry leaned on the bench next to him, staying out of the fight across the room, and watched her ascend the staircase angrily.

Ron leaned back heavily as well to take a breather and shook his head.

"Girls, mate. Wish me luck" he said resignedly as he pushed off, calling out to her.

Harry had shaken his head and hadn't wished him luck. He didn't need it. They could fight and clash and get as mad as hell at each other, but Ron was Ron and Hermione was Hermione. They were made for each other and they'd always, _always _find a way back.

The third time was much, much later. Harry had dropped by Hermione and Ron's place to drop off a book Ginny had borrowed from Hermione. He was bone tired; Albus had been up all night and James...well, James was just bloody James. Ginny was blaming his genetics for the antics of their eldest son and was currently refusing to talk to him.

He heard the shouting as he made his way up the front steps.

"...no...you will not...any circumstance!"

"You can't...the bloody...we were that age...first broom!"

"...absolutely refuse...dangerous!..."

Harry knocked and let himself in. His goddaughter Rose Weasley was sitting, cross-legged, on the floor, watching with bright interest the knock-out-drag-out brawl in the kitchen. He gave her a hesitant smile and she grinned back brightly, putting a finger to her lips. He stuck his head tentatively through the doorway.

"You will not buy Rose a broomstick! My children will not be flying about on one of those bloody death sticks until they're at least twelve!"

"Like hell!" Ron roared.

Harry smirked, very quietly placing the book on the kitchen table and attempting to sneak back out. Unfortunately, his brother-in-law chose that moment to spy him.

"Look, Albus has got a broom and he's same age as Rose! Don't tell me it's because she's a girl, Hermione, not when you're always on about treating her the same-"

"Ginny flew for an international _bloody _Quidditch team, Ronald! It makes sense that Albus has got a bloody broom and it has _nothing _to do with Rosie being a girl, you insufferable _git!_"

Harry was backing slowly out of the room, hoping if he made as little noise as possible, he could get out without either of them noticing. He got to the door, giving Rose a sweet from his pocket, and Disaparated quickly before either of them noticed her was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

The little girl sat down primly and folded her arms and legs briskly, her pigtails bouncing on her shoulders. Everyone, parents, children and the teacher, applauded her talk. She gave her mother and father, standing at the back of the room, a huge grin with a missing front tooth and a spray of brown freckles.

"Teddy, would you like to go next?" the teacher, a small, sweet woman with glasses and grey hair, asked. The small boy of eight clambered to his feet, face screwed up in a conscious effort to keep his hair from changing to red, as it often did when he was nervous.

His eyes came up from the piece of paper he held protectively in his hands to scan the back of the room. There they were! He grinned and waved quickly before becoming serious.

"Alright, Teddy, whenever you're ready"

Harry rubbed his jaw and blinked heavily as he glanced at Ginny, tucked into his side, smiling calmly. Then he glanced at Ron, who he was glad to see looked as sleepy as he did. They'd come straight off night shift to be here for Teddy's big day.

"Are you sure about this?" he muttered at Ginny. She smiled at him and squeezed his arm.

"Of course. Now pay attention"

Why wasn't she nervous? Shouldn't she be as nervous as he was? The eight-year-old apple of their eye was about to stand in front of a whole room of little buggers who were relentlessly cruel without even realising it...and give them ammunition for when they did realise how to be cruel! He forced himself to be calm and looked back to Teddy, who had begun to speak.

"My mummy and daddy are heroes-" he began, small voice wavering just a little.

Harry swallowed and stiffened, ready to grab Teddy and leave at the first sign of insensitive comment.

"-I didn't know them for very long because they fought bad guys and died-"

The room tittered at this remark, so coolly delivered, so matter of fact. Teddy hesitated as the teacher had to hush the children, and his wide eyes searched the crowd again. Harry caught his eye and winked, hoping to Godric it looked realistic. Heartened again, the little boy ploughed on, concentrating on the words on his page.

"-My mummy's name was...very long, but her friend's called her Tonks and my daddy's name was Remus. They were very special-"

With a shot of dread, Harry began to suddenly question the decision to send Teddy to a Muggle primary school. These children and their parents wouldn't understand the context. They didn't know just how special Remus and Tonks really were. He swallowed.

"-Even though they're gone, I don't think I'm an orphan because I have two other dad's and two other mum's who love me and look after me-"

His jaw dropped and he looked at Ginny. This was a long way from expected. She looked at him, expecting his reaction.

"He wrote it himself" she whispered. Hermione gave her a little push to quieten her. heart hammering, Harry listened to his godson's words.

"I live with my mum Ginny and my dad Harry on weekends. Nobody messes with my mummy Ginny because she's strong and brave and knows just what to do when you say a bad word-"

Everyone laughed, but Teddy's collective parents laughed loudest. Yes, Ginny's Langlock Hex was almost as good as her Bat Bogey Hex, and was a snappy deterrent to bad language in the Potter household.

"-My dad Harry is the bravest guy in the whole world. He's a hero. He's got a cool scar and glasses and tells me stories about when my dad and his dads, coz he's two too, were at school-" Teddy stumbled a bit, trying to get this fact across. Even Harry frowned for a moment before he realised the boy was referring to Sirius as his other dad. He forced a smile then, biting the inside of his cheek hard as tears flooded his eyes. Ginny squeezed his hand.

"-I live with my mummy 'Mione and dad Ron on weekdays. 'Mione reads books and teaches me awesome stuff. She also tells me, um-" he seemed to lose his place and panicked. At the same time, Hermione and Harry saw his hair begin to tinge purple and his skin go slightly darker and stiffened. A split second later, however, he found his place and kept talking, his finger now tracing the line of the paper-

"She also tells me stories about all my dad's, coz they used to get into trouble all the time when they were little-"

There was more laughter and some sympathetic glances in the 'father's' direction. It seemed there were a few people in the room who had been dobbed in by various spouses for past wrongdoings.

"Thanks for that 'Mione" Ron muttered in her ear, pulling her close and leaning his chin on her shoulder. She giggled and Ginny pointedly gave her a push.

"-My dad Ron is a hero too, coz he saved my dad Harry's life lots. He makes me laugh and shows me how to make mum not notice I haven't cleaned my room...ohhh boy-"

Teddy suddenly cut himself off, look up sharply and guiltily from the paper in Ron's direction. Ron's ears had turned suddenly very pink and Hermione was turning in her arms to fix him with a pointed stare. A heartbeat later, all Ron could do was laugh along with the rest of the room.

"Mum Ginny, dad cleaned my room for me so I could go outside and ride my br-bike!-" Teddy called suddenly and beamed at Ron as Harry cowered under Ginny's withering glare-

"See? Now you're both in trouble"

Ron found that hilariously funny. Finally, when the room had calmed down, Teddy finished his talk.

"-Umm...so...yeah, my mums and dads are pretty much the best. They look after me and they love, even when I don't clean my room-" he grinned winningly at Hermione- "But most of all, they don't let me forget how important mum and dad, that's Remus and Tonks, really are"

The room applauded. After his marathon effort, Teddy slumped on the floor and folded his piece of paper in his lap. Then he looked over his shoulder at them.

Dad Harry; who gave him a picture of Remus and Tonks to keep by his bed, who taught him how to fly a broomstick, who hugged him like he was never going to let go when he was hurt.

Dad Ron; who helped him play pranks and laughed all the time and made his mum 'Mione yell by sneaking up behind her and tugging her curls.

Mum 'Mione; who read him stories and showed him the difference between the smell of new parchment and old books, who taught him that it didn't matter where you were from and that they would love him even if he was a werewolf like his dad.

Mum Ginny; who let him fly faster and higher than dad would and made the best chocolate biscuits and tucked him into bed with a kiss.

Yeah. He didn't miss his mum and dad too much. He had their picture and he had his other parents telling him every day how much they, and Remus and Lupin, loved him.

But sometimes...sometimes when there was a full moon he'd wake up and for a split second before he opened his eyes, he'd swear he could see a very tall man and a small lady with pink hair standing over him. Once, just once...

He thought he heard her say his name.


	6. Chapter 6

Ron was watching her. He was watching her because, by Godric and all the Founders, she was the most beautiful damn thing he'd ever seen in his life. She was humming softly to the music on the wireless, swirling around his bedroom with her eyes half closed and her hair in a loose, tangled mess around her shoulders. Her bare feet shuffled on the wooden floorboards, a perfect harmony to the whisper of the fabric of his favourite shirt against her skin.

Then suddenly, it was very black, and very cold, and she was screaming and he _couldn't bloody help her! _

"_Ron! Harry! _Oh God, _Ginnnyyy! Harrryyy! Help me! Hurry! _Oh, Ron, _Ron!" _

Hermione's scream was like nothing he'd ever heard; not even at Malfoy Manor had she screamed quite like that. Harry hit the top of the stairs after leaping the three below it and stumbled, but kept running. He sprinted the length of the hall and shouldered open the door to Ron and Hermione's room. The scene before him stopped his heart; Hermione was kneeling by Ron, his long limbs sprawled on the floor, half curled up and shaking badly, his breath shallow, choking gasps and his eyes wide.

"Bugger it all-" Harry skidded to his knees by his mate's side and grabbed his arms, sitting him up even as he went limp- "Ron, mate, listen to me, listen to me now; you have to breath, got it? Jesus, Ron _breathe _mate!"

Hermione clutched his arm as Ron stared, unseeingly, over their heads and made ragged choking sounds. Harry held her hand.

"It's called a shut-down, 'Mione. A, ah, a waking nightmare. He'll be okay, he just needs to calm down; you talk to him"

She shuddered, staring at him helplessly, and then at Ron, who shuddered uncontrollably in her lap. A tear fell down her face and splashed against his cheek, but he did not notice. Again, desperate for guidance, she looked at Harry. He gripped her arm.

"Talk him down Hermione. It's going to be okay"

She sobbed and bent her head to bury her damp face in Ron's neck.

"Ron, _God Ron, _come back, please...it-it's alright now, darling...it's okay" her voice caught and dropped like a ship trapped in a stormy sea. His eyes were still wide, but his breathing began to slow, moving through his lungs now in heaving gasps.

"_Ron, it's okay, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, darling..." _

_Her voice, soft, choked, ragged with fear and love and hope and frail exhaustion. It cut through the screams of his family, the cries of the dead and dying as stone cracked and shattered and spider's hairy legs scuttled across flagstone floors. _

_Ron choked, unable to breath from the hands around his neck. The face before him blurred and swam; it was Dolohov and it was Bellatrix and it was Voldemort and it was the terribly beautiful spectres from Salazar's locket, whispering lies and hatred. _

"_Please, Ron, please come back" "Ron, mate, breathe" _

Then his eyes were open, and the sunlight was streaming through his bedroom window and his vision was filled with deep brown eyes full of tears and love. His heart swelled in his throat and he couldn't speak, so he pushed himself up and buried his face in her hair.

Coconut, lavender and wild mint. That was what Hermione smelt like. Coconut from her body lotion, lavender from her shampoo and wild mint because she kept a little bag of it dried in her clothes drawers. She was warm summer and dusty autumn and musty library and learning and delight and sweetness and bickering and anger and beauty.

And right now she was weeping into his shoulder, her hand clutching his shirt, her smaller body jerking against him with every heavy sob. It took a lot to make her cry; he should know. He'd made her cry enough, he'd seen her cry enough. It wasn't an experience he ever looked to repeat.

He tangled his fingers in her sweet-smelling curls and kissed her neck worshipfully.

"Oh bloody hell, 'Mione...I...I didn't want...I'm sorry you had to see that" he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked. She jerked upright and slapped his arm.

"Oooh! Oh you _bloody, complete _ass Ronald Weasley!"

She kissed him hard enough to take his breath away and then pressed her lips to his shoulder where she'd slapped him. She would never, _ever _lose the ability to make his head spin this one. He chuckled as only Ron Weasley could and caught her face in his hands to kiss her again.

"You're mental, you are" he said affectionately. She even managed a watery chuckle before she leaned her forehead on his and looked down at their now entwined fingers.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

She refrained from rolling her eyes. She loved him, it was true, but by Godric he drove her mad. He was so bloody oblivious. She traced the tendons on his forearm where his shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, savouring the feeling of his skin, and then stopped because he was getting that glazed look he got when she did things like that.

"That you were feeling this bad" she said softly. He blinked heavily and then sighed, sitting up and drawing his knees up, resting his wrists on them lightly.

"I dunno, 'Mione. You got enough on your plate, love. I'm just...I dunno. I'm alright and then...then I'm just not alright anymore, you know?"

He turned sorrowful blue eyes to her and she rested her head on his shoulder. They had their back to the door, Ron leaning on her after dropped a sweet kiss to the top of her head, Hermione curled up into his side, still wearing just his big dress shirt. Behind them, Harry stood, cloaked in half-shadows, glasses glinted in the sunlight, watching over them.

He would always watch over them.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This piece contains a smoking, drinking Draco Malfoy and a possibly very OC Astoria Greengrass. Readers, you have been warned. **

**Regards **

**CW **

The man at the smoky jazz bar exuded power. Confidence. Arrogance. He was tall and lean and dangerous as a whip with gleaming silver-blonde hair that shone in the half light of the bar and piercing grey-blue eyes. He leaned back on the bar with a cigarette dangling from the long, slender fingers of his left hand and a shot of whiskey in his other. He spoke to his companion, a big, dumpy man with a scrunched up face, without looking at him. His gaze travelled around the room, almost wolfishly searching for danger.

Only upon closer inspection did one see beyond the cold confidence of his smoke screen. There was an intensity in his shoulders, black smudges under his icy eyes, a haunted shadow across his face. Seeing nothing worth seeing, Draco Malfoy turned his upper body back to the bar and threw back the dregs of his drink.

"Ya don't mind me askin' boss, but you look like shit. You been sleeping?"

Draco couldn't help the flash of a pained, wry smirk. Since that night in the Room of Requirement, Gregory Goyle had been a different man. He wasn't scared of Draco Malfoy anymore and for fleeting moments, Draco was sure the big man even saw him as his equal. Though it did not stop his irritating habit of calling him 'boss' like a stereotypical goon.

"Sleeping mate? What's that?" he joked coldly and gestured for another. Goyle blinked stupidly and shook his head. Malfoy had changed after the war. He didn't need a bodyguard, he needed a friend with hollow desperation. Which was why Goyle was here, standing and drinking with the former-Death Eater.

"Ya should be. The Ministries ridin' us so hard they might think sommat's up"

Draco sneered and took a hit of the new double with a wince. It burned its way down his throat. He was about to say something about where the bloody bastards at the Ministry could go with their 'Dark Wizard Rehabilitation' when Goyle gave a low whistle.

"Ruddy hell. Look whose all grown up"

Draco turned.

Astoria Greengrass, the younger, formally shyer sister of one promiscuous Daphne Greengrass, had just sauntered through the door. She was wearing, of course, a dark green silk dress with a long neckline and a flirty hem. It hugged all the right curves and flared just perfectly. Draco's eyes dropped and he took in the curve of her breasts, the swell of her hip and the formidable line of those long, _long _legs.

"I'll be damned" he muttered, eyes travelling back up to her face. She had just spotted them and was making her way over. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had noticed the sensual young beauty because at that moment a drunken hand shot out and slapped Astoria's behind.

Draco was up, on his feet and across the room in the time it took Goyle to register that the other man had even moved. He grabbed the drunk by the collar of his shirt, dragged him four steps to the wall and slammed him into the wall.

"Apologise to the lady, you scum-ass _maggot _or you will regret it" he snarled, his fists balled so tightly around the other man's throat he couldn't reply if he'd wanted to. Suddenly a small, well manicured hand gripped his shoulder firmly.

"Malfoy you bloody pig, let the man go!"

Surprised, Draco dropped the drunk to the floor where he proceeded to crawl away. The blonde wizard was too busy looking at Astoria, who was standing with her chin up defiantly.

"You're bloody welcome" he snapped.

"I am perfectly capable of defending myself, Malfoy, I don't need you to go so completely against the grain of your personality and be a hero" she said snidely, eyes flashing warningly- "Now if you'll excuse me, _I'm _going to get a drink"

With that she whirled and stalked to the bar. Draco watched her go, one eyebrow crooked. Then he dug into his pocket and checked the denomination of the Muggle currency with something a little like disgust. Then he tossed it on the table the drunk had managed to stagger back to with his equally as written off mates.

"Drinks are on me" he said and went to join Goyle again. He shot back his drink and let another cigarette and watched her from down the bar. Goyle was smiling.

"What are you grinning about you bloody lump?"

A few years ago, that might have stung. Nowadays, Draco only ever insulted Goyle, and he'd come to see it as the young man's only way of communicating affection.

"You want her" said Goyle simply. Draco chuckled.

"You, my friend, are a lot bloody smarter than we give you credit for"

"It's not just because she's hot" he continued. Draco looked sharply at the other man.

"Come again?"

With a piggish snort of laughter, Goyle paid for his drinks and clapped Draco on the shoulder.

"Good luck mate" he said as he left. Draco watched him go, a little confused, and then shook it off to call the barman over.

"What's the young lady drinking?" he asked, reminding himself not to demand. The barman raised one eyebrow. The blonde and his buddy came in every few days. They seemed completely normal, even if they talked about some pretty cracked things something, and were usually pretty well behaved. Tonight was the first time they'd ever caused any trouble, but it hadn't led to anything.

"Grey Goose, sir"

"Get her another on me would you? And, ah, hang on, haven't got a, ah, a pen, have you?" he said, handing over another bill and patting down his pockets. Thank Salazar he actually learned something from the five minutes he ever spent in Muggle Studies. On second thoughts, he paid for his drinks tonight as well, and took a draw on his cig after her handed over the written on serviette

Astoria looked surprised when the second cocktail was delivered to her, and then turned to look at him. He gave her a nod, a charming grin and turned to leave. He was shrugging into his coat and stubbing his butt out on the street outside when he felt a tap on his shoulder blade.

He turned. She had a twinkle in her eye that he decided he liked a lot.

"What makes you think I'm this easy, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, waving the serviette at him. He grinned. She must have chased him out to ask him just this because she wasn't wearing her coat and teeth were beginning the chatter in the cold night air.

"What makes you think _I _am, Ms Greengrass? Owl me" he let the last words slide seductively past his lips in a challenge and enjoyed the shocked look on her face as he turned and walked away.

She stood in the street for as long as she could stand the biting wind and watched the blonde haired man stride away. He ducked into a side street and she heard just the faintest _pop _as he Dissaparated.

Then she laughed softly and looked at the address written on the paper in pen.

"One to you, Mr Malfoy" she conceded in a whisper.


	8. Chapter 8

The afternoon sun shone through an open window and pooled on the floorboards like liquid gold. It was a calm day and around the room, the life of a young woman perched precariously on the edge of change. Boxes half-filled, some shut, other open, littered the room. A few of the objects scattered around hadn't belonged in this room; this was the room that a girl with a page-boy cut and freckles had turned into a woman. Here in these four walls she'd cried over her first broken heart clutching a teddy bear, spent countless hours curled up on her bed and watched from her window as her brothers played Quidditch with the boy whose initials she'd doodled on her diary. This room was Holyhead Harpies, laughter, tears and no time for girlishness because she had to keep up with the likes of Fred and George Weasley. It was not a room where a photo album of a former Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts dancing on the first page belonged, or a Gryffindor Quidditch Captain jumper, or a broken Sneakoscope and a pair of mismatched, badly knitted socks. But they were as much a part of the woman as stolen moments on big brother's brooms had been to the girl.

Now the bed had been stripped of sheets and even the posters of the Holyhead Harpies had been taken down. There was an apprehensive taste of disturbed dust in the air.

Everything was changing. A month ago, she'd been a student, a year ago she'd been a soldier. Today she was grieving and tomorrow...who knew where and who she'd been tomorrow. Still the mourning lover of a hero, just in the light of a new day.

He would have kicked up such a fuss, everyone in black, looking all sombre. He'd have hated all the sallow faces, the dark colours, to hell with it being his funeral. So the red-haired woman had compromised; black robes over a bright gold dress, yellow shoes and chunky, multi-coloured beads. Colour for him, but the black was for her. Sitting back on her heels in the midst of the movement, the packing boxes, the bag of trash and the box of things for the second hand store, she was still crying, reading by the light of the dying day. Tears dripped onto her lap and she read the last words of the boy she'd adored and the man she'd loved. The parchment his last words for her were written upon was much the worse for wear. By her left leg was an envelope with a name written in sharp, male capitals. Her name.

**Dear Ginny, **

**It's an indescribable feeling to be writing to you for three reasons, really. **

**The first one being that I don't know if you'll ever see it. Which, in one way, makes me feel free to write whatever I like, but it also scares me. Scares me because I think ****what if she doesn't know how much I care about her? ****What if, somehow, it slipped my mind to tell you how amazing you are, how beautiful you are, how smart and kind and funny you are, and a top Seeker besides? Well, if it has, I guess I had better apologise because you are. You really, ****really ****are the most fantastic thing that has ever happened to me. That includes discovering that I was a wizard in the first place, catching the Snitch in my first year and flying on Buckbeak and finding out I have a godfather who loved me. **

**Do you remember when you first kissed me? I'll always remember that. It's the one thing I hang onto and the first thing I think of when I'm casting a Patronus. You, in your muddy Quidditch robes, and that look on your face. ****The ****look, I guess it is. I saw it when you kissed me or when I caught your eye across the hall or when you're flying or you and Hermione and Ron and I were all sitting around the fireplace, laughing about something. We didn't do that enough. Just sit around and listen to Hermione fret and Ron be helplessly in love with her and the only ones who didn't know it were him and her...and your...well, you really. Your laugh and your voice and all those things that I love madly about you. **

**I suppose the second thing is that I may never see you again. That kills me inside, that thought. See ever since we heard about the Deathly Hallows, I've been sort of obsessed with the idea of the Resurrection Stone. I'd like to see Mum and Dad and Sirius again. But I'd like to see you more, which is what makes the whole idea kind of bittersweet. I know the next time I'll see them will be on the other side of the Veil, if there's even such a thing, which means I'm never going to see you again. That and maybe seeing them before I've accomplished what Dumbledore, and then Ron, Hermione and I, set out to do. Which, basically, is give you lot a chance to be free again. **

**That is my reason. I want, more than anything, to see you flying again. ****The ****look on your face, and your hair loose; you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen on a broom, Ginny Weasley. Just so you know. And you'll never look like that when there's people dying and Death Eaters and ****him****. So no matter what happens to me, you have to promise yourself, since I might not be around to promise to, that you'll fly. You'll fly and you'll laugh and you'll forgive Ron and you'll find some other lucky sod who will never love you as much as I do because that's bloody impossible. **

**So the third thing, in case you haven't already guessed because I've said it twice, is that I love you. I never said it to you. There were a million moments when I was looking at you and I could just about taste the words, but something always held me back. I feel a bit of a fool for holding back. There should have been more time. We should have had more moments like the one in the corridor, hoping we'd never be seen. Me praying to whoever was listening that Ron didn't come around the corner and you because you never wanted it to end. **

**That made two of us...**

**You're a dangerous woman, Gin****, I'm pretty sure that's what I said to you when I realised that the corner you'd dragged me into couldn't be seen from the corridor. And McGonagall was passing right by us when you had your hands under my shirt, which is why I think you didn't reply. And you were doing everything in your power to convince me it was a very good idea to be taking my clothes off on the first floor corridor. **

**I really hope that if you're reading this it's because you caught me about to burn the bloody thing and you gave me those eyes you know I can't resist and grabbed it off me. I hope it's not because I've gone and gotten myself killed because more than anything, I want to hold you again, Gin. I want to hold you and kiss you and feel my heart pounding in my throat when I ask your parents (and Ron and the twins and Billy and Charlie) for their blessing to marry you. **

**But. If I'm not there when you're reading this, there's nothing really left to say. I'm sorry if you're not free. Merlin, if I've failed you Ginny, I will be sorry for the rest of my, well, I guess my existence, whatever it may be. And know that I love you madly, don't ever question that. Even when I told you we couldn't be together, selfish prat that I am, I couldn't help but hope you'd wait for me. I never dreamed you would; you're always moving forward, Gin. You're always so strong. Another thing to the long list of things I love about you. **

**So move forward, Ginny. Fly and laugh and dance and don't be afraid. Remember me being so bloody nervous around you because I didn't want to mess things up, with you or Ron. Remember all the times I acted like a bloody prat because I couldn't figure out how stupidly in love with you I was. Remember me trying to wink at you once across the corridor and failing miserably. Remember those days by the lake...and I'll remember you wearing my Quidditch jumper even though its miles too big and you've got one exactly the same. I'll remember the first time I saw you and you told me 'good luck' and the last time I ever saw you when you were duelling a Death Eater at Bill and Fleur's wedding. **

**I love you, Ginny Weasley (Potter) **

**Harry. **

Hermione was sitting in a overstuffed, cosy armchair, her knees drawn to her chest, looking out the window as the dying sun reflected strains of chestnut and gold that Ginny had not been aware of. She had come to hate funerals. With an intensity. And it was even worse because it was _his. _As if her own pain wasn't enough, the people who meant the most to her were in intense amounts of agony. Hermione's face was drawn and grey, her eyes puffy and bloodshot and hung with bags of sleepless nights. Hermione did _not _cry. She wondered how he would have felt to know she cried for him.

Ginny was almost done crying. She had no energy for it; she was spent. Her emotional tolerance was now zero. So she didn't mean to be callous as she dropped the other letter into the other woman's lap. All she wanted to do was take a hot cup of coffee to her room and finish packing while she was still holding onto her sanity.

Hermione looked up, surprised, as the heavy envelope was dropped into her lap, and watched Ginny stalk out, her hair a dimmed, unwashed sheet down her back. Her confused gaze dropped to the yellowed rectangle and her heart seized.

How many essays had she marked, how many assignments had she rewritten, how many notes had she painstakingly proofread, written in that handwriting? She'd know it blindfolded, just by the scratched indents his quill left in the parchment. Heart pounding, she opened it carefully.

**Dear Hermione, (just so you know, it took me four bloody attempts to even figure out how to start this, and that pretty much sets the tone for the rest of it) **

**I actually feel silly writing this all down, because you're sitting on the camp bed across from me, wrapped up in some Dark Arts book, pointedly ignoring me. Which is stupid really, because I know you forgive me. I made you coffee this morning (three sugars; you detest coffee unless its sweet) and you smiled. **

**Yeah, your smile is pretty amazing. If I want to get really poetic, your smile is bloody fantastic. It never fails to make me feel like somebody's lit a fire right in my chest and I can't help but smile too. Unless you're smiling at some other bloke, because then it feels...well, it feels bloody horrible if I'm honest. Which I'm normally not. Not about you. You're sort of my weakness, Hermione. **

**See, Harry told me he was writing a letter to Ginny, in case he didn't make it, and I'm to make sure she gets it. Don't worry, I gave him a good smack in the head for saying it, but it got me thinking (yeah, yeah, don't faint). **

**It got me thinking, what if ****I'm ****the one who kicks the bucket and ****you're ****left behind? I'll tell you right now, that thought hit me worse than a Bludger in the gut; I never told you how much you amaze me, how you never fail to surprise me, how you can make me feel like I'm flying, how much you piss me off at times and (I can't believe I'm gunna write this) how you can turn me on with a look. Oh bloody hell, now I've done it; you looked at me all funny coz I've gone and turned bright red thinking about that. I mutter something under my breath; you still think I'm all chastised and sorry for running off. **

**Shit. Which I am! Blimey, don't get me wrong, I've never regretted anything in my life more than leaving you and Harry. Well, 'specially you. It's just that I'm waiting for you to stop acting mad at me before I stop acting sorry for myself, in case you take it badly and get all worked up again. **

**Not that that's a bad thing. On a sidenote, you're amazing when you're really mad. Your nose gets screwed up and your bloody hair is electric and your eyes are gold like a lion's and your cheeks just about glow. I'll admit straight out there were times that I got you riled up just to sit back and watch. And you can't argue with me when I tell you it's stupidly simple, even for me, to do. **

**Back to me not being honest about you; I'm sorry. Sorry I've been such a git and left it all too late to do anything about and then buggered it all up so badly I thought I'd lost you for good. Not the first time I've done that, mind you. First time I did that was Yule Ball. Made a proper bloody git of myself, I did. Bloody Krum; sorry, love, but it's true. If it weren't for him you might have snotted about my being an insensitive git in asking you (for the record, you shot down a week's worth of private mirror-to-Ron pep talks that day) but you might have gone with me. Or, I 'spose you would have just gone with somebody else who would have made me equally as bloody mad and say all those stupid things to you. ****Fraternising with the enemy? ****I even copped it from Harry for that. Between him and Ginny I didn't think I'd get out alive! **

**Anyway, the point is we're here, I'm back from my prat-sojourn, hunting Horcruxes with ****him ****on our tail (does the Taboo still work when it's written? I dunno. Not taking my chances though) and every day is looking more and more like we're marching towards something big. Like make-or-break the world big. And I don't want you to be left standing there, beating yourself up with the facts and the evidence and all that. Because there isn't any. Love isn't like that. **

**Coz if that isn't what this is, I'll be buggered if I know what they're talking about then. You were one of my best mates, 'Mione. I mean, you were (still are sometimes) a know-it-all, hard-nosed twit with impossible ruddy hair, but you were my mate. You were on my side even when I was a sorry-for-myself, useless prat. And that stuck with me. I guess, back in second year, it hadn't really clicked yet that there could even be anything more to it. You can look after yourself, I knew that. But when Malfoy called you that word, I saw red. And not coz my fringe got in my eyes either. **

**There was more to you and me even back then, you see. Because when that ****foul ****word came out of his ****foul ****mouth, I thought, and I still remember clear as glass what I thought, that ****nobody ****calls my Hermione that. I didn't think my ****mate ****or my ****housemate ****or my best mate's sister (coz, let's face it, we've been Harry's brother and sister for that long at least, as sick as it sounds when I feel the way I do) I thought ****my Hermione ****and I hexed the blonde bastard. Well, more accurately I hexed myself, but the intent was there. **

**So please don't beat whatever's left of me into a pulp for claiming ownership over you, because it goes both ways I swear. I know it's not really much to offer you, but it's yours. Every incessantly blushing, hand-me-down robes and rats (that are actually traitorous, Marauding, murderous Death Eaters), mental bloody owls, Wizarding Chess, Goalkeeper, Chudley Cannons, Blood Traitor, Malfoy-hating, spider-fearing inch of me belongs to you, Hermione. Because if I don't die, I'm going to make you the first brown-haired Weasley. **

**But let's concentrate on my not dying first. Or you for that matter, because that would be a terrible bloody shame considering I would have chewed the end of a quill for no reason. I think its Harry's quill too. Bugger it, he already wrote his letter. **

**So now I feel like I've said a whole lot more than I should've in this letter. It probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but like I said, this is my forth piece of parchment and you're giving me that look like if I touch another piece you'll bite my arm off. What I really hope you get from all the rubbish is that you're an amazing, beautiful, bright, talented, sexy, adorable, intelligent, brave, smart, stunning, fiery, loving, passionate and dangerous witch and I am madly, stupidly, completely and utterly in love with you. **

**Yeah. Reckon that just about covers it really. **

**Love, **

**Ron**

**PS; I'm giving this to Harry to give to you if, well, you know. If. And, as a footnote in case I really don't get through this, make sure he looks after you and Ginny and mum. The three most important women in my life deserve it. **

Hermione read the line over and over until the words began to blur before her eyes.

_**What I really hope you get from all the rubbish is that you're an amazing, beautiful, bright, talented, sexy, adorable, intelligent, brave, smart, stunning, fiery, loving, passionate and dangerous witch and I am madly, stupidly, completely and utterly in love with you. **_

Slowly folding the parchment again, she wiped her face clear of the telltale tears and sniffed. Her face felt raw and her eyes sandy as she pressed a furtive kiss to the sweet smelling parchment. A voice interrupted her consultation with her memories.

"Got someone here who'd be much more appreciative of that attention" he joked, his voice rough and hoarse from spent tears and much-needed sleep. Hermione leapt up and threw herself into Ron's strong arms.

"Oh, _Ron_" she gasped into his ear and kissed him desperately. Surprised and off-balance by her feverish intensity, Ron held her at arm's length and kissed her quickly and chastely.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione what's...oh bugger. You weren't meant to see that" he finished quietly, catching sight of the letter in her hand. She buried her face in his chest and he put his arms around her, holding her quietly.

"I love you" she whispered.

Ron swallowed and closed his eyes, a man at prayer.

"Yeah. Me too. You've got no idea how much" he muttered.

Above them, a red-haired woman revisited her nightmare, reading the words through the blur of tears until she felt seasick.

Then strong arms looped around her and held her against a beating heart. It was a relief and a reassurance. She sobbed and he held her, kissing away her tears as the letter fell to the ground.

"You gave Hermione hers?" he whispered. She nodded dumbly.

"I-I probably sh-shouldn't have, b-but sh-she had t-to see it" she hiccoughed. Harry brushed away the red strands of her hair and kissed her, hard, on the mouth.

"He didn't want her to read it. Neither of us wanted you two to read them" he said, softly reproaching her. She smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry...you know, I wrote you a thousand. More than that, probably. Hermione has a letter to Ron in her Tales of Beedle the Bard"

He tightened his grip on her and was quiet for a moment.

"Gin, I don't want to read those letters you wrote me" he said hesitantly. She nodded.

"We'll burn them together"

He fingered her beads and his tired face twisted into something like a smile.

"I reckon Fred would have liked it, you know" he said. Ginny did smile; a splitting of her ruddy, tear-stained face that lit the room and replaced the light of the sun as it dipped below the horizon.

"Bloody George. And don't think I don't know you were in on it! They're Muggle things, those whatdya call those things? Whopee pillows or something?"

"Whoopee cushion, Gin. And it was Hermione who was in on it, not me!" he corrected with a small laugh, and with a final kiss he stood, looking around.

"We'd better get this stuff ready to go-" he said quietly and frowned-

"Do you think Hermione will let him read her letter?"

Ginny shook her head and looked at the tear-splattered letter in her own hand.

"God I hope not. That nearly killed me"

Harry reached over and grabbed it from her hand. Ginny let him, unsure what he was going to do with it. She gave a cry when he tore it, in half and then half again, screwed it up on his hand and then produced his wand and muttered something to the ball. Blue flames alighted on his hand and consumed the wad. He put out Hermione's charmed fire before it could burn his hands. Then he grabbed Ginny's arm and yanked her in close, planting a breath-taking, all-consuming kiss squarely on her mouth, leaving her utterly powerless in his grasp.

"Nobody makes you cry. Not even a younger, stupider me" he said firmly. Ginny burst into tears and laughed in the same instance and suddenly, Harry was crying too, his glasses fogging, and they were both laughing wetly at their own ridiculous behaviour, so loudly that Ron and Hermione came upstairs to investigate. Which is how Mrs Weasley found them, hours later. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry, sitting around Ginny's packed room, talking quietly with tear-stained faces and smiles.


	9. Chapter 9

With quiet feet on the dusty floorboards, Hermione Granger followed the trail of a certain red-haired wizard through the dark, musty halls of Grimmauld Place. She paused, listening as feet shuffled. A thin crack of yellow candlelight seeped from beneath the door to her left. Summoning her courage, she raised her hand and rapped softly on the wood.

"Ron? Ron, it's me, I'm coming in"

She didn't give him the choice. If she did he'd never come out. So she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

She gasped.

"Oh! OhmyGod, I'm so sorry"

Ron turned to face her and shrugged his bare shoulders.

"Don't worry about it" he said gravelly, not moving to cover his naked torso. Hermione didn't know where to put her eyes. She knew where she wanted to put them; over the cuts and bruises that adorned his ravaged body. Quidditch and a year on the run had been good to Ron's figure; pale muscle traced the angles of his gangly body, splattered with light ginger hair that caught the gold candle light. He shifted, reaching one hand up to scuff the back of his head uncomfortably. She gasped as his body was thrown into full light.

The scars he'd collected, the cuts and bruises yet to fade, the burns and curse marks were worn like a knights armour. With these scars present, she couldn't get through to him. They were like a wall between them. A wall of memory, of fears and hurt and pain that neither of them could move past just yet.

"Oh..."

He was chewing his bottom lip and when she looked up, he looked away. Rubbing his face as if trying to wake himself up, saying nothing. Hermione took another step closer.

"Ron..." she breathed his name. She _needed _him to look at her..

"Why'd you come up here?" he choked out, still not looking at her. His voice was almost icy. Hermione flinched.

"R-Ron, I..."

Why couldn't she damn well get her words out? Why was it so damn difficult to say what she was feeling? She'd never had a problem expressing herself...except, to him. She drew in a shuddering breath and took another step, bringing her close enough to him to touch.

Except her drew back, wary as an animal, and still didn't look at her.

"Look, if-you're regretting what happened, that's fine. It was...ya know, heat of the moment an' all that"

"What?" she whispered, instead of reassuring him that she would never, _ever _regret kissing him. Still, he didn't look at her. A muscle in his jaw jumped.

"The...the bloody kiss, alright! I know that you, probably didn't mean it an' that's alright"

Ron shrugged as if he really didn't care, reaching now, finally for a shirt. There was a dead quality about him as he moved. Some light that had gone out. Some darkness that had crept in. Hermione reached out her hand and laid it over the scars on his shoulder. He froze.

"I was so scared I'd lose you. I...I mean, all I could think was that it was _you. _And that meant that it didn't matter how many books I've read and how many spells I know...because it was like, opening a book and the pages were blank. Like as soon as you were hurt, I forgot how to _read. _And that was the scariest bloody moment of my life"

Ron hid his amusement at her admission of her inescapable hunger for knowledge. He looked down at her slender, bruised fingers as they traced the wide, raw scars permanently a part of his body and said nothing. Not until she bent her head and kissed it. He drew in a sharp breath and her name fell out of the barred cage of his lips. She looked up at him, fear and nerves in her eyes.

"I don't regret kissing you" she blurted out. They both went red and were both highly aware that she had not removed her hand from his arm.

"Oh. Well, that's...good, then" he muttered, licking his lips nervously. Trying to think what to do next, Hermione returned her gaze to the scars.

"It shouldn't have scarred. Essence of Dittany...I'm sorry...shouldn't have scarred..."

He went redder.

"Don't worry about it...I don't...I didn't...I mean, what...where do we go from here?" he finally spat out.

Hermione giggled tiredly and he grinned, some of the tension dispelling.

"It's all so broken now..." she whispered softly.

The seriousness returned as they thought of their school in ruins, of the bodies of friends and family, of the blood on their hands, of the mourning yet to happen. Of a world waiting to be put back together. Ron's face contorted as he thought of his brother, dead under a white sheet, waiting for his funeral. Last night they'd slept, or pretended to sleep, on mattresses in the Hall with the dead, or in the beds of the various Houses, or at Hogsmeade. Then today they had risen at some ungodly hour and gone about the black business of repairing the school, of collecting bodies and washing blood from the flagstones. Of digging a few survivors from the rubble.

"Do you think we'll ever be the same?"

When she'd kissed him, it had been a wonderful moment. A blazing moment that had tasted like victory, of freedom, of being one step closer to the end, to the dawn.

But that was before they'd seen Harry, apparently dead in Hagrid's arms. Even knowing now that he wasn't really dead, the moment had crushed something in them. That was before Fred died. That was before they'd spent this day digging the corpses of children from stone and finding pieces of human scattered across the grounds.

Now...things were different.

"No-" he answered her honestly "-My brother's dead. My mother's a killer. _I'm _a ruddy killer..." he trailed off, his voice breaking. Without thinking, again without even giving her body full permission, Hermione put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She felt him hesitate, but only for a moment, and then his arms went around her waist and he pressed his face to her hair. His broad shoulders shook and they both cried.

When they became aware of themselves again, fire was coursing through their bodies. Who had kissed first? Who'd lit this flame? Who knew. The point was that they were entwined on a dusty, bare mattress and she tasted like cinnamon and tears and he smelt like spearmint toothpaste and smoke. All that mattered was that they had to be alive, and that being alive was brilliant; because how else could they feel this burning, this gasping hunger, this _beauty _coursing through their veins like wildfire.

Suddenly Ron drew away, gasping, his body shaking as he lay above her, keeping his weight up with one arm as his other was cupping her face.

"Shite" he managed shakily. Her hands ghosted along his ribs and he shuddered.

"You needa stop" he whispered breathily, kissing her swollen lips quickly. She clung to him and he grunted as he drew away again.

"Bloody hell 'Mione, you're not making this any blood-" _why did she taste so ruddy good? _–"Bollocks. Stop. Stop, stop, stop"

He pushed himself up and put his feet on the ground, going to stand. Unfortunately, she'd managed to turn his legs to jelly, and he stayed sitting, catching his breath.

"Ron?"

She was half-sitting up, uncertainty in her eyes. He swallowed hard, lost in her dark brown eyes.

"Not now, please...please, 'Mione not now" he pleaded quietly. He couldn't fight her and the desire flaming through him. He needed her on his side. Her eyes widened and he saw a tornado of feeling tumble into her. Chief among them was guilt. He reached out his arm and thought how damn perfectly she slid into the gap at his side.

"I'm sorry" she said precariously.

"Ah, don't be. That was mostly me anyway...I think"

She laughed, properly for the first time in months and as though it was contagious, Ron joined in. It was as though a dam had broken and by the time Harry tracked them down to see what the noise was about, they were bent double, tears of joy running down their faces in the tracks burned by hot drops of anguish. He looked at them, raised an eyebrow and waited for them to notice him.

Hermione saw him first and raised the hand not clutched to her stomach in greeting. Ron saw the gesture and lifted his head to meet Harry's face.

"H-h-heeyy m-m-mate-" was all he managed before he doubled over in new bouts of hysterics.

"Are either of you in any state to share the joke?" asked Harry wryly. Hermione, giggling, wiped her face.

"Oh, G-G-God...I d-don't think w-w-we could if we wanted t-to"

Harry shook his head. He was tired and had only just returned from Hogwarts. He needed a shower and as much sleep as he was going to get with so many ghosts sitting on his shoulders. Yet, somehow, Ron and Hermione laughing over nothing at all, obviously recently engaged in a bout of debauchery, lifting a little weight from his shoulders.

"There's dinner at the Burrow tonight. Molly's rounding everyone up" he said.

Ron nodded, standing with the help of the foot of the bed, nodded and bent to scoop up his shirt.

"Thanks mate. You seen George?"

Just like that, the darkness began to intrude again. Hermione's laughter was cut short. Harry winced at the abruptness of it and nodded.

"He was leaving Hogwarts with Percy when I left" he said.

Hermione looked guilty again as she took in his sweaty, filthy appearance.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I thought you were behind us"

He blinked heavily.

"Professor Sprout was dug out of the greenhouses" he said simply and scuffed his shoe on the floorboards.

"Anyway. I'll see you two tonight...-" suddenly he cocked an eyebrow in a very Weasley-Twin gesture and smirked suggestively- "If you don't get all caught up again"

Hermione sincerely wished she had a pillow to throw at him and settled for a glare instead. Ron, however, chuckled.

"Oh, I dunno mate. Might have to catch you up"

Now distinctly green, Harry left in rather a hurry.

"Was that necessary?" Hermione said pointedly. Ron shrugged, looking uncomfortable again as he tried to read her expression, wondering if he'd gone too far.

"Well, if he reckons he can take the mickey, he never had F...the tw...he never had brothers like mine. The quicker you go along with it, the sooner he gets bored. Sorry, I mean-"

Whoa. Hermione Jean Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was a helluva kisser. As she drew away with a smirk of her own, his heart stopped. It wasn't fair for her to be so damn beautiful, he decided dizzily.

"I agree entirely"

"Oh. Well. Well that's good then" he spluttered.


	10. Chapter 10

The light was on in the kitchen and the voices murmured softly. Every once in a while one, the strangers voice, would rise; either angry or upset, she couldn't tell. It would then be shushed by the other voice, the voice she sought as she sleepily made her way down the stairs. She pushed open the kitchen door slowly...

"Harry?"

He leapt up, the chair scraping the floor, and stood uneasily blocking her view of their late-night visitor. She frowned.

"Gin, what are you doing up?"

"I heard voices. What-"

There was a flash in the low-lighting, a gleam of sleek silver head and she stiffened. Harry was reaching for her, and her wand was suddenly out.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

Harry bridged the distance quickly and caught her wand hand in his, still standing between them.

"No! Ginny, stop-"

Behind him, wood scraped on tiles again and the blonde stood quickly, shoulders hunched against the sudden animosity pouring from the red-haired witch in the doorway.

Ginny yanked at her hand and dragged her eyes from Draco to look furiously at Harry.

"-the hell is going on, Harry? What the bloody hell is he doing here?"

Unseen by the furious woman, Draco rubbed a hand across bloodshot, weary eyes and grabbed a coat from the back of his chair.

"Look, Potter, I'm gunna-"

"Sit down Malfoy" Harry cut him off sharply and looked back at Ginny. Their eyes clashed, angry and slightly pleading. He was yet to release her wand hand.

"He's assisting an investigation, Gin. It's just for tonight"

"What's just-" she read his expression in the way that only wives can and her eyes widened-

"No! No, no, _no! _No _Death Eater, _reformed or _not _is staying in the same house as my children! _No, _Harry!"

His hand tightened exponentially on her arm and his gaze flicked out the door, up the stairs. His voice was soft, furious, sharp, cutting through her panic and anger like icy water.

"Lower you voice, Ginny, or you'll wake them. This, _he, _is the only chance we've got of putting Theodore Nott away for the torture of those Muggles in Bulgaria. You can kick him out, Nott'll be extradited and be whisked away by some goddamn Grindiwald zealot, never to be bloody seen again. Do you understand?"

She was shaking under his hand, whether because his sheer intensity had frightened her or because she was so blindly angry, he didn't know. Behind them, an uncomfortable Draco cleared his throat.

"Look, Weaslette, I'm not 'sactly happy about it either, orright. But-"

He glanced at Harry, who nodded.

"Tell her" he said.

A look full of such complete agony Ginny did not think he was capable of it, tore across Draco Malfoy's face and his hands fisted by his side.

"Nott killed Goyle" he spat as though the words tasted bad and looked away, jaw clenched tightly.

Standing in the half-light of her kitchen, shoulders hunched as if under a great weight, his once fine clothes ragged and too large on his hollowed build, the icy sharp edges of Ginny's anger began to dull. She frowned at Harry, looking for further explanation, and remembered;

The Room of Requirement. Fiendfyre. Crabbe falling to his death, consumed by the monster that he had summoned. Goyle making it out alive; Draco Malfoy's only companion left alive.

His only friend, she realised with a jolt, studying his tired, grey features cast in stark artificial light. The thought, true as it was, did not sit right with her. After all, Malfoy's didn't have friends. Yet here the heir of the proud clan stood, mourning a friend. She wondered whether it was his mourning or simply the tribulations of the post-War world that had hollowed out his proud figure so thoroughly. Where was that muscular Seeker's build that girls had raved about? Where was the sexy glint in those cerulean-silver eyes that had, if one believed the Hogwarts rumours, talking many girls into late-night sojourns behind the Quidditch stands? Where was that arrogant sneer and the cold pride?

What was a Malfoy without the infamous Malfoy sneer?

He was standing in the small, usually brightly lit kitchen of the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes squinted like he was battling tears.

A little more ice melted.

"What if Nott comes after you? For selling him out?" Ginny asked firmly, fingers still tight on her wand. Draco's head jerked up and his eyes met hers. By Godric, those eyes were deadened.

"Let him come" he whispered dejectedly. The hopelessness in his voice and eyes and stance made Harry and Ginny both flinch. Ginny reached blindly, instinctively, for her husband's hand. He wrapped his warm fingers around hers and met her eyes beseechingly. She nodded and his shoulders relaxed.

"One night" she said firmly and went back to bed.


	11. Chapter 11

The flat about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes smelt like Grimmauld Place did the first time Ron ever walked inside. There were dishes stacked in the sink and a layer of dust dancing in the slitted sunlight forcing its way through the broken blinds. There was something dark, something cold about the place. It sat heavily upon the room like the shadow of death. Ron tightened his grip on his wand infinitesimally. He'd made Ginny wait downstairs...just in case.

George had left the Burrow three days ago and nobody had heard a word out of him. He'd left in a blind rage and told Molly not to try and contact him. He'd said he'd needed some time to get his head together before Fred's funeral. However, when there was still no word yesterday, Arthur had said he'd go around to the shop. A responsibility that Ron had taken from the man's ailing shoulders, and Ginny had insisted she accompany him, the silly, masochistic girl...

"George?" he called into the impenetrable dankness, stepping into the door. Something in the back room clunked heavily. On his toes, Ron followed the sound down the hall. Something crunched under his shoes; sounded like glass. He glanced down and frowned. Shards of reflection caught the white light of his wand and glittered like new ice on the dark floor. He moved on.

There was dirty laundry scattered across the room and the musky smell of unwashed socks. The bathroom door was open, but just as Ron was about to check inside he heard a rattle from the bedroom.

He pushed open the door and took in, with bated breath, the sight before him.

George Weasley; laughing, joking, sunlight-Quidditch-pranks George, was laying on his bed, stretched out. The blankets lay discarded on the floor, the bed was bare of everything but the top sheet. It reeked of alcohol, smoke and unwashed male. Watchfully, Ron took another step inside. George had shrunk away from the half-light that spilled in from the hall. This room was as black as he could make it; windows shuttered, lights extinguished.

Clad in only a pair of torn jeans, George's ribs were dark slashed shadows on his pale body, his skin an unhealthy grey, his eyes bloodshot and his hair limp. Ron sucked in a shuddering breath and approached with caution.

"George? When was the last time you ate?...bloody hell, are you bleeding?"

George lolled his head and fixed Ron with dull blue eyes. For a moment, he simply stared unseeingly, then he looked down at the blood caking his arm.

"Yeah...mighta punched the mirror...was lying...it was lying to me, Ron, the mirror..." his voice trailed off, gruff with drink and exhaustion. Ron sighed.

"Come on, George-" he flicked his wand at the window, the shutters flying open. George grunted and covered his face-

"Ginny doesn't need to see you like this. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" he reached for his brother's arm, only to be violently shaken off. George staggered to his feet, cursing.

"You fuck off, Ronald. Geddoutta here. Don't need you around, don't fucking want your-hic-pity!"

Ron stared for a moment as George pulled a half-empty bottle of Odin's finest from beside the bed and tipped it back. Then he continued to watch, heart breaking, as George staggered to the window and shut the blinds again. Wordlessly, Ron opened them again with a flick. George, eyes unfocused and brain fuzzy, looked confused for a while and then tried to shut them again, but the floor seemed to dip under his feet and he callopsed.

Ron hurried to his side and crouched, pulling him into a half-upright position.

"George? _George?_"

"Oi, shuddurp. Too _loud" _

Keeping a hold of him until his eyes (sort of) focused on him, Ron slung George's arm around his shoulders and, legs shaking, hauled the bigger man to his feet.

"Right, c'mon. Up you come. I'm going to get 'Mione to make you a sobering potion, alright? Then you can-"

"No" George slurred, tugging away to stand on his own, swaying as he pointed an unsteady finger at Ron in a Molly-Weasley mockery.

"No" he repeated, more clearly. Ron tried desperately to hang onto his patience.

"No, what?"

"Don' wanna be...sober...all comes back when Imm...sober...-" heavily and without grace he tapped his temple with the finger he'd been using to point with- "All comes back when I'm sober...alla the lil demons, runnin' around...messin' wiv...my head..."

He tapped his temple again, trying to make his point. Ron dragged a hand down his face tiredly, gritting his teeth.

"Is that damn easy for you?-" he gritted the words out, feeling anger towards his brother for the first time- "That _bloody _easy? Just write yourself off and it all just _falls away_? You bastard, George! You _bloody bastard! _Meanwhile, you don't think the rest of us are suffering?-"

Now Ron's voice rose from the dangerous snarl to a furious shout.

"-What about _mum? _Huh? Did you even _think _about her? What she's going through while you're in here, drinking it all away?"

George staggered angrily in a way Ron would have found amusing if he hadn't been so enraged.

"Shee couldn't even tellthe diff'ence 'tween us!"

"And you bloody liked it! You liked your could mess with our heads like that, the pair of you! Dressing the same all the time, always the same haircuts and the rest! You don't think that its going to be bloody hard for us? It's just George now, innit? No more Fred-and-George, way its always been! If you weren't so fucking wrapped up in your own misery, George, you might find there's a whole lot more people feeling the same as you! Percy?-"

Ron's voice cracked and he looked away. When his resumed, his voice was soft, strained as though on the rack.

"...Percy's beating himself to death. Should have been there faster, he says. 'Betrayed us' he says. Mooching around looking terrified that one of us is gunna kill 'im...an' Gin...if Ginny didn't have Harry, I dunno what she'd do...mum doesn't talk. Dad's...always at the office...Bill and Fleur dunno what to do...they're just...worried, I guess. That all the darkness is gunna rub off on them. Charlie's just...spends a lot of time in your old room. 'Mione's off to Australia. I'm going with her, get her parents back. Betcha you didn't know that, did ya?-" he looked expectantly sideways at George who was, miraculously, still on his feet. His top lip curled in disgust and he rubbed his neck.

"...me? I dunno what I'm doing. Trying to hold my family together. Trying to..."

The tears began to fall down Ron's tired face and he shook them away, shuddering.

"I'm just trying to go on-" he looked at George, who was looking remarkably sober for someone who had moments ago been a raving drunk. Ron's eyes were dark and angrily grievous- "The least you could do was try the same, Georgie" he said quietly at last.

George sat heavily on the edge of the bed and unfeelingly yanked off a flap of skin that had been slit by his encounter with the mirror. Ron walked over, grabbed his wrist and healed the wounds with a tap. George couldn't even muster the energy to look surprised.

"You smashed all the mirrors?" asked Ron softly. George nodded.

"Yup...even his...-" he nodded to the gaping, rectangular hole in the wardrobe where there used to be a mirror- "Couldn't stand him looking at me...can you take me to my room? I need to sleep this off" he said then, deadpan.

Ron blinked and looked around. Oh. Wrong Quidditch team's poster on the wall, light blue walls where George preferred reds or oranges, a Hogwarts Beaters bat that he'd stolen back in third year or something leaning against the wall.

"Yeah, alright, come on then"

Leaning heavily on his younger brother, George limped across the hall. His room was still, dead, unused in weeks. As Ron dumped him on the untidily made bed, a cloud of dust puffed up to envelope them both. George coughed once, groaned and his eyes fluttered.

"Aye Ron?"

"Yeah?"

Ron was at the door, going to get Ginny so they could start cleaning up. George didn't look at him.

"Whatever I wake up like, don't let me have a hangover potion, will ya?"

His youngest brother snorted wryly.

"Not on your life big brother"


	12. Chapter 12

The entry clicked. She knew it was him; she was so finely attuned to his presence that she'd felt him enter before she was even entirely away of the fact. A quick glance down from the tribunal seating confirmed her instinct; a flash of bright red hair against the dark marble of the court room.

He was standing in the same damn room! Just there, so close! Soon she'd be with him. Down the stairs, across the room and into his-

"-...Miss Granger?"

Hermione jerked as her name was called, apparently multiple times, and tried to snap back into being business-like.

"Oh! Uhm, yes, ah, we...have, accomplished, uhm-" she glanced pleadingly at Kingsley for assistance. He frowned and then the telltale red hair in the public sector caught his eye and he smiled secretively.

"Ah...well, I vote we take a recess until Ms Granger has had a chance to...clear her head"

She blushed and cursed herself quietly. It had taken her a long time to get the Departments to take her seriously, and now she was back to square one with this ridiculous Schoolgirl-In-Love act she was involuntarily pulling.

However, then she was out of her seat and bounding down the stairs and...

Oh Merlin wasn't he a bloody vision? He stood at the back of the room, head bowed and shoulders hunched a little in that way he had of trying to disguise his height. His eyes lit up when he saw her coming and he moved past several witches and wizards trying to make their way out of the room to get to her. His hair was a messy thatch, a few days unwashed, and there was a glint of fuzz on his strong jaw line. He had a limp and a graze on his cheek, his brilliant, perfect summer blue eyes were bloodshot and tired, but he was _there _and he was _alive _and he smelled amazing.

For a long moment after they met in the middle, frozen in position with their arms enveloping one another, neither could speak. They couldn't find the words for this moment, and Hermione no longer gave a damn what the Department heads thought of her, what the Minister for Magic thought of her, because she was in his arms and he was okay.

"Oh, 'Mione...-" he breathed her name like a prayer and leaned against her forehead, an entire conversation flashing between their gazes.

_Missed you thank Merlin you're alright how are you I love you was it terrible how was the meeting going I'm so glad you came I'm sorry I interrupted-_

"-D'ya think Shacklebolt will fire me if I kiss ya right about now?" he asked softly, his words just for her. There was gruff rumble in his bass that made her blush again because it was the voice he used just for her when they were alone. She grinned outright.

"Well if I kiss you he can't"

She gave him no chance to argue and gently guided his lips to hers, softly; familiar, delicious, perfect. His lips were a little chapped and he pressed against her eagerly, jolting her a little, but her knees nearly gave out when he caught her hips and kissed her back savagely.

When her head began to swim, she suddenly remembered where they were and pulled away with a gasp.

"Ron, _bloody hell!_" she admonished him weakly, trying to fix her hair. He really did have a terrible habit of messing it up. Ron was grinning broadly and hadn't released his hold on her waist. While she was suddenly painfully aware that a few Department heads who had stayed in the room for the recess were watching intently, he nuzzled her neck and whispered against her skin as she leaned her face into the merging of his shoulder and neck and caught her breath.

"I love you" he whispered, a secret just for her. She grinned, a thrill going through her even after three years of him saying it.

"I love you too"

Hating herself for it even before the movement became a conscious decision, she stepped away from him and brushed a lock of his brilliant red mane from his eyes.

"I better go..." she told him regretfully. Instead of arguing like he normally would have, he reached forward and ran one rough finger over her swollen lips, deliciously reddened from his three-day stubble.

"I 'spose we've given these old farts enough of a show, huh? I've gotta get back to Harry anyway. The paperwork just takes away all the fun" the black anti-humour in his voice made her cringe. She was about to comment when they were interrupted.

"Excuse me, Mr Weasley, Ms Granger, can we get a statement for the _Prophet_?"

"I am not authorised to comment on recent events, please contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for a statement" Ron said authoritatively, drawing Hermione back from the bowler-hat wearing journalist. The ratty little man grinned outright;

"Recent events, Mr Weasley? Perhaps you'd be willing to shed some light on those words...but we were actually looking for a statement from the Golden Trio; you're both aware the three-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is-"

"We're aware, thank-you. While Ronald, Harry and I continue to acknowledge the cherished memories of our friends and family who gave their lives, we're now looking far more to the future" Hermione cut off graciously, a courteous smile on her face. The media, even the _Prophet_, had long since become accustomed to Hermione's always professional, polite approach to them. The journo made a quick note, his quill scrambling across the page, and then used it to gesture between the two of them.

"And you relationship with Mr Weasley still going strong, then?"

Ron's mouth twisted in a mulish kind of way and he pulled Hermione against him, his arms folded around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. Hermione rested her hands on his arms and smiled, nodding.

"Ron and I are in a stable relationship" she clarified. His amusement at her use of the word 'stable' vibrated silently through her back and she smiled too; after all, they argued and bickered at a rate which Harry found endlessly amusing. Their interactions were anything but stable. 'Volatile' seemed a more apt description.

"A proposition on the horizon, Mr Weasley?"

Ron snorted.

"What is this, _Witch Weekly_?"

That shut him right up, but only for a heartbeat.

"Any comment on Harry Potter's relationship with Holyhead Harpies Chaser Ginerva Weasley?" he bounced back with, quill at the read. At the very least he wasn't using a Quick-Quotes Quill, Hermione thought to herself.

"Harry and _my sister_ are very happy, thanks" Ron replied, while Hermione found it silently entertaining the way he stressed that, girlfriend of the Chosen One and successful Quidditch player or not, Ginny Weasley was still _his _little sister, and Merlin help anyone who forgot it.

"And any comment on the rumours they are, in fact, raising the orphaned son of lycanthropic war hero Remus Lupin?"

Neither of them hesitated in their smiles. After all, son of a werewolf or not, Teddy Lupin had Ginny and Harry wrapped around his little finger. He was endlessly entertaining when asked to explain his family; at preschool the family portrait he'd been asked to draw showed himself, Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron, with a blue haired woman and a man with a wolfish snout sitting on a cloud above them, looking down.

"Theodore Lupin is a good boy under the care of his godfather and close friends of the late Professor and his wife. I think that'll be all gentlemen" Hermione extracted herself from Ron and kissed his cheek one last time.

"I'll see you tonight" she said, turning back to the Heads of Department meeting.

"Yup. Tell Kingsley all's well, then" he replied.

Ron watched her go with a half-smile, before limping back to the Auror office.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry was distracted and tired, coming up on the ass-end of his work day, and not noticing until the last minute the darkly clad, pale figure walking in the other direction, equally as distracted. Their shoulders crashed into each other and the pale man was knocked off course, sending his cane clattering to the ground.

"Bugger, sorry about that…-" Harry had reached for the cane on the ground and immediately recognized it, going still. His eyes flicked up to the pale steel orbs that were looking back at him coolly-

"Potter" Draco greeted him, a bite in his voice just knocking the exchange from the perch of civil. Harry picked up the snake-headed cane but did not hand it back to his former arch-nemesis.

"Malfoy. Bit far off your turf, innit?"

The aristocrat shifted one shoulder nonchalantly.

"I was looking for the C-of-MC department actually, but apparently I've taken a wrong turn"

Harry's ears perked at the mention of Hermione's section and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"It's a floor up and to the left"

Draco looked where Harry had pointed and nodded curtly.

"Regards, Potter" he said. They stood apart, neither talking, the green eyes drilling the blue, until Draco held out his gloved hand pointedly.

"I'd appreciate it if you returned my father's cane"

Harry looked at the viciously crafted silver snake head.

"The way I remember it, this wasn't just a cane" he said slowly. Draco sighed heavily.

"I'm not him, you know, _Potter_. _My_ wand is safely tucked away downstairs with a lovely bright marker that declares what a terribly evil person I am and exactly how I should be roasted in Hell for my sins. That cane is just a reminder of the mental, washed up old man that I'd prefer _not _to become" he snapped. Still suspicious, Harry gave the head of it a tug, not looking at the former Death Eater's narrowed gaze. It didn't budge.

Then, slowly, he returned it to Draco's waiting hands. The other man snatched it and, without another word, strode away. Harry stood still for a moment before turning and calling out Draco's name. He did not turn to face the Boy Who Lived, but he did stop.

"My apologies Malfoy" he said through gritted teeth. Draco snorted wryly.

"You too, huh?" he enquired dryly, referring to the Ministry mediators who had, for the last decade, been promoting a 'forgive and forget' mentality between the former fighters of the Order of the Phoenix and the terrorists of the Death Eaters. Harry's lips tugged in sarcastic humor.

"How can you tell?"

There was equal humor in Draco's voice.

"Seems funny, doesn't it?-" he turned around to face Harry- "That the two of us would end up here? You married to a Weasley and me…-" he gestured with the cane and Harry nodded slowly, understanding.

"Yeah. It is funny…I'll see you around then Malfoy"

And so, again, the two of them strode in opposite directions, backs turned on one another, and a solid, strange understanding left between them as solid as a wall.


End file.
